


A friend is a stranger you haven't talked to yet

by olympia_m



Series: Between two places [2]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series, 闇の末裔 | Yami No Matsuei | Descendants of Darkness
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olympia_m/pseuds/olympia_m
Summary: How Liu Feilong met Mibu Oriya.





	A friend is a stranger you haven't talked to yet

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to Blend.

After what had happened in Hong Kong Asami and Feilong had reached an understanding of sorts. They even reached the point that the one could invite the other for formal dinners as they built up a working relationship, and mended their personal one. 

Feilong was in Tokyo for business when Asami suggested that he show him ‘the old Japan.’ He was intrigued; everything he’d seen in Tokyo reminded him of what he’d seen already in China, only smaller, drabber, poorer. The Imperial Gardens? Puny. The Imperial Palace? Colourless. The Meiji Shrine? Small. As for the modern buildings? They could tear them all down and he couldn’t care. Hong Kong’s architecture was far more interesting. 

But he had a couple of days to spare, and the prospect of travelling to a new place with Asami and Takaba was not unwelcome. Takaba was someone Feilong respected, and his eyes were young. Takaba saw what they didn’t; he waved to random children, he spotted little old ladies that needed help with their shopping, he rubbed the bellies of stray cats basking in the sun. 

Asami was mostly business, but somehow business conducted under the sun and trees felt less shady. The temple gardens made for an interesting backdrop to possible murders. There was protection, anonymity, and quiet in crowds. “This should be sacrilege,” Feilong said as they pretended to look at zen gardens. 

Asami smirked. “Since when do you believe in gods?”

“I said ‘should’ – hypothetical speech.” His smirk was as small as Asami’s. 

Takaba was too busy sharing sweets with a toddler, but as they smiled, he looked at them perplexed. “Did you just share a bad joke?”

Asami kissed the confusion in Takaba’s mouth, and Feilong smiled. He didn’t mind it anymore. Not much, at least. 

Kyoto was better than Tokyo, he conceded. 

For dinner Asami had planned more work. Liaising with Diet members was sometimes better done at night, when they were drunk and eager with the prospect of sex on the horizon. Naturally, Asami knew just the place where he could indulge the whims of his politicians so that, then, they will indulge his. 

“A politician introduced me,” he whispered as their car approached an elegant, old-fashioned establishment. “Though you might be too pretty for our pervert dinner companions,” he told Takaba, giving him a bruising kiss. Takaba melted against him. “This will prevent them from getting any ideas.”

Takaba frowned. 

“If they get any ideas, I’ll chop their hands off,” Feilong promised. 

“You’ll have to get in line,” Asami told them. “Although you might be busy defending your own virtue,” he smiled at Feilong.

He glared. “What kind of restaurant is this that allows such behaviours?”

“A brothel-restaurant,” Asami said smoothly as the car stopped. “Time to work.”

“Sometimes I hate you,” Takaba murmured as he gots out. Feilong shared the sentiment. 

At least the ‘work place’ was pleasant. They were guided into a secluded room that hadn’t changed in at least three hundred years. The plates where the food was served were even older. This was the Japan that was celebrated in museums. If the company, the food, and the sake weren’t excellent, Feilong would have left already. He liked antiques, but not to this degree. 

The politicians were boring too. They half discussed matters of Japanese national interest with Asami, when they didn’t try to pull the maids close to them, who protested and asked them to wait for the ‘entertainment’ to arrive. It all left Feilong bored. 

Takaba didn’t share his boredom; he was busy eating, and drinking, and asking the maids about what to visit next in Kyoto. Takaba was young, oh, so young. 

Just as one of the two politicians was about to go out and find his own entertainment, the entertainment arrived. Two brightly dressed maiko, two elegantly dressed geiko, and a man carrying a shamisen. 

“Ah, the Young Master himself. What an honour,” the politician who was about to flee said and pulled him down. “Drink, drink.”

Feilong smirked. It looked like his and Takaba’s virtue would be left alone this night. Takaba glanced at him, obviously having the same thought. 

The man’s smile did not reach his eyes as he took a drink. “Who would care for a game?” he asked as he plucked his shamisen. 

An hour later Feilong had to re-evaluate his definition of, as well as his patience for boredom. If it was just the dancing and the music he might have treated the experience like an exclusive concert, but the games, gods, the games. Watching two old geezers with little to no eye-hand coordination playing ‘rock-paper’ with the maiko was slightly less entertaining than watching them play ‘tora tora tora.’ Perhaps it would have been easier if he could participate, but to play next to them would mean showing them how bad they were, and so, like Asami, he’d stayed an observer, pretending to sip sake. 

The geiko were trying their best to engage them in conversation and get them to drink, but Feilong’s tolerance was still nothing like Asami’s. Real drinking was out, and without a lot of alcohol, this evening was boring. 

Next to him Takaba couldn’t stop yawning. “Asami, can we go back now? They’re being entertained,” he complained finally when the geiko and the musician left the room. 

Asami shook his head. “Not yet.” 

“Can we go out for a smoke, then?”

“You don’t smoke.”

“No, but you do. Let’s go smoke.” 

Feilong stood up. “I smoke. Let’s go.”

Takaba followed him. “These are games for stuffy old men,” he mumbled. “The food was good, though.”

Feilong nodded. “The music was fine, but the games….” He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the garden. “If I hear ‘tora tora tora’ one more time, I’ll shoot someone.”

“Konpira fune fune,” Takaba shuddered. 

“How is that supposed to be fun?”

“Imagine having the weight of the world on your shoulders all day,” the musician suddenly appeared, “and then you go to a place where there are no obligations, no responsibilities, no decisions to be made. You drink with pretty women who treat you like a child, and you relax.”

“Hn,” Takaba said. “Still sounds boring. But I guess it makes some sense.”

“Yes, if you’re a rich, old man,” the musician said, sounding disgusted. “Anyway,” he moved aside, letting two other young women get into the room. They were dressed a bit like maiko, but not quite. It took him a while to realise their obi were tied at the front.

“Oh,” Takaba whistled, “the ‘other’ entertainment.”

The musician covered his eyes with his hands. “Don’t call it that.”

“Now we can go,” Asami said, getting out of the room as the women entered. 

“Ah, thank you for your patronage,” the musician told Asami, bowing slightly. “We are greatly honoured, as always.”

Asami bowed back. “The honour was mine.” He guided Takaba gently forward. “Time to go home,” he whispered in his ear.

Feilong glanced back. The musician was staring at the closed door of the room where the politicians were being ‘entertained’ with utter hatred. There were worse things than being bored, he realized. 

“The musician. Is he another of the whores?” He asked Asami when they were in the car, after Takaba had settled against the older man. “He seemed to hate that place.”

“What?” Asami laughed. “He’s the next owner.”

“Ah.” His father hadn’t done a good job then, raising such an ungrateful son. 

He must have spoken aloud, for Asami answered him. “Perhaps not. But not everyone is made to walk in darkness.” He glanced fondly towards Takaba, who’d fallen asleep. 

Feilong snorted. “Unlike us, Takaba wasn’t brought up in darkness, nor did he choose it. One should respect one’s family. Or make a clean break.”

“You’d think so.”

“Yes.” He stared out of the window, but even there he couldn’t escape seeing how Asami tried to put some order in Takaba’s unruly hair. With his fingers. It looked nice, and Asami had no idea he was doing it. 

He wished he were back in Hong Kong. Home. 

&*&*

The next day Feilong met the musician again. Bumped into him, to be exact, in front of the entrance to the Fushimi Inari shrine, and managed to drop the bag full of little cookies the man was holding to the ground. He wasn’t that careless, but he could have sworn he’d just seen a fox, an actual fox, with an actual key right in front of him, and he’d been distracted. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” The man smiled, and this time his eyes smiled too. 

Feilong was transfixed by the sight. The man wasn’t dressed as nicely as the night before; he was in a plain blue, boring even, yukata, under a darker blue haori, but he seemed to glow. 

“I owe you some cookies,” Feilong said, “please, let me,” he said, pointing towards the closest bakery. 

“But…”

“Yes?”

“The best ones are there. Come, I’ll show you.”

Feilog followed him. “So, you come here often?”

“As often as I can. You know this is a shrine for merchants? One should thank the gods every now and then.”

Feilong snorted. “What gods?”

“The gods.” The man studied him. “We’re here,” he said instead of whatever he wanted to say.

Feilong bought at least as many cookies as the ones he’d thrown, and then another bag for Takaba. 

“Try,” the man said, offering one. 

Feilong split it in two, taking hold of the little paper folded between the two edges. “Land is always on the mind of a flying bird. Not much of a fortune reading.”

“Mine is worse. Your feet will make you happy today.” He bit on one half of the cookie. “But the taste is good, right?”

Feilong tried, and agreed. “A bit sweet.”

“But not too sweet.”

“That’s important.” 

The man smiled at him. “Was our service so unpleasant last night?”

Feilong felt himself start to blush. “No, just…”

“Boring. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Long before I heard your comments.” 

“Er…”

“Your friend was right: these are old men’s games.” 

“And what do young men do for games?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I mostly live in the past these years.” He smiled again. “You should be asking your young friend this question.” Emphasis on ‘your.’

“He’s not my friend.” Emphasis on ‘my.’ “He’s just a friend.”

“Ah.” Another smile. “Then you should have stayed last night. I could have arranged something for you.”

Feilong smirked. Yes, definitely the next owner of a brothel. “I’m not that interested in women. Or men,” he added hastily, before the other man got any ideas. 

“Ah.” 

“I tried sex without commitment but it’s not as pleasant anymore,” Feilong blurted out, feeling pinned under the weight of the man’s silence and his understanding gaze.

“Yes, that could be a problem,” the man said after breaking a second cookie. “If you feel you are right, stand firmly by your convictions.” He passed half of the cookie to Feilong.

Feilong bit into it. “These fortune cookies are defective.”

“Third time’s the charm?” 

“You just like to eat cookies,” Feilong grinned as the man broke the third one in two. He accepted a half, though, and the folded paper. “When fear hurts you, conquer it, and defeat it. Ha. I know no fear.”

“I think I’ve heard that before,” the man said, sighed, and stopped. “I ought to go back to my house.” The smile was gone from his eyes. 

Feilong regretted it instantly. “But you haven’t prayed yet.”

“Perhaps praying was an excuse for getting cookies.”

Feilong smiled. “I’m Liu Feilong.” he said, extending his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I know.” The man refused the handshake, putting his hands in the sleeves of his haori. 

“That’s rude.” 

“I know.” 

“Then? If you know, why are you being rude?”

“Because that’s who I am. Ask anyone.”

Feilong stared at him. He felt emotions stir within him, annoyance at being played, anger at being mocked, but also incomprehension. They had been engaging in light-hearted banter, and then the man dared pull away and stop interacting with him. No one did that to him. 

The man turned around. 

Feilong made to grab him. The man avoided him and threw him effortlessly on the ground. Feilong blinked. Too fast; the man was just too fast, and now he towered over Feilong, looking disappointed. 

“I’m tired of men without fear. Men without fear have nothing to lose, and that makes them desperate first, and then dead.” 

Feilong had nothing to say to that. It sounded logical. 

The man sighed deeply. “Mibu Oriya,” he said as he gave Feilong his hand and pulled him up, effortlessly, before Feilong could even think of standing up himself. Something about the grip bothered him.

“Whom have you lost?” he asked without thinking, and then truly reddened. This wasn’t like him, damn it. 

“My dearest friend.”

“Ah. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be. He was an idiot.” Mibu cracked open another cookie. “The greatest risk is not taking one.” He snorted. “Perhaps they are defective.” He handed yet another half to Feilong.

Feilong took Mibu’s hand in his, examining the calluses. “You fence?”

“I told you, I live in the past.” 

“If so, why do you hate your work? Isn’t it the family business?” If Feilong was Takaba, he would have shut his mouth with his hand, and looked utterly horrified. Since he wasn’t, he just looked down, unable to believe what he’d just said. 

“Are you always so direct with your questions? Isn’t that rude?”

“No. Yes. I…” He had no excuse. “I apologise.”

Mibu looked at him strangely. “You don’t even know why you’re doing this. Today, of all days. This is not you. And it’s not. It’s me.”

Feilong stared and let Mibu guide him towards one of the smaller shrines, and then behind it, in an area not accessible to the public. He even allowed it when Mibu made him sit. But he also had limits. “Well?”

“Erm… I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You seemed certain of that a minute ago.”

“Alright, I can’t explain it. To you, anyway. To someone who doesn’t believe in gods, and spirits, and curses.”

“Try me.”

Mibu started pacing. “Ok, but you’ll have to pretend to believe in these things for a while.”

“Fine.”

“There are different types of gods, and spirits. Some spirits are as powerful as gods, although they aren’t immortal like gods. They’re also tied to specific places, and can offer their protection and power to people there.”

Feilong stared. Okay, Mibu had seemed like a likeable person for a while. Unfilial, perhaps, but almost nice. Definitely interesting. It seemed he had to change that to definitely crazy. 

“My family… my house… it’s one such place. And I belong to it. It return, it gives me some powers that are useful to my ‘business’,” and there his mouth twisted unhappily. “Making people relax, putting them at ease, making them spill out their secrets.”

Mibu’s agitation and unease made Feilong uneasy. Yes, definitely crazy and delusional. “So,” he said carefully, wondering if Mibu was one of those madmen who seemed fine until provoked. Was he fast enough to take him? Or at least to escape him? “I’m asking you awkward questions because you make me?”

Mibu nodded, clearly unhappy about it, but also embarrassed. “It doesn’t happen during daytime, so I don’t understand why….”

“You are delusional.” This time Feilong did put his hand over his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say that. Not out loud. 

“Am I?”

Feilong sat back. He’d play along, since his mouth and his brain had decided to separate some time ago this morning. “Then, it’s only fair that you answer me. You have me at a disadvantage otherwise.”

Mibu sat next to him, shoulders sagging, but eyes determined. “Fine.”

“So, why do you hate your family business? I grew up into mine, and I ought to hate it even more than you, but… that’s how things are in this world. It was my Father’s business, after all.”

Mibu looked at him with compassion. “Whereas I just wanted a life of purity, without any entanglements.” He smiled. “Well, perhaps one entanglement. Just one,” he said wistfully. “Instead I have to live in the dark, master the dark, and then die in the dark.”

“You should have left then.”

“My house… it owns me, more than I own it. I can’t leave.”

More delusions. Feilong felt sorry for him. “That’s sad.” He stood up, angrily. “Seriously, what’s wrong with me?”

Mibu smiled. “I’m sorry.”

“And why are you honest?”

“Because the fortune cookie told me so. To take a risk.” Mibu took Feilong’s hand in his. His touch was gentle and light. “Your susceptibility made me wonder earlier. If maybe you were someone I could trust.”

“That makes little sense.”

“You were being honest with me. And you were asking me. People are not usually like that. They tell me things. What they like, what they want, what they do. What they fear, what they lust after.” He lowered his head, turned Feilong’s hand and kissed his palm. Lightly, gently. “You asked about me. You said what you didn’t like. You were honest.” Mibu stared at him. “I’ve only had one person be honest with me so far. I missed the feeling.”

Feilong pulled his hand slowly. “I don’t know about this.”

“I know. I just wanted to be honest with you too.” Mibu stood up, letting Feilong get up on his own. “What happens next, that’s up to you.”

Feilong nodded. “I should go back to the hotel.”

Mibu nodded. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Regardless of your answer, let me know what it is. Don’t let me wait in vain when your answer is negative.” Mibu’s smile was sad. “I’m good at waiting. So, don’t make me wait forever.”

“That’s stupid. When there’s no answer, then the answer is no.”

“I can’t help it. When they tell me to wait, I do.”

“Then you’re stupid.” Shit. Feilong closed his eyes, counting to ten. “Really, if this is your fault. Stop. It.”

Mibu laughed. Despite his embarrassment, Feilong liked the sound of it. It was bright, and promising. As they walked down, he almost took Mibu’s hand in his. Not quite a yes, but almost a maybe.


End file.
